


The Rat Comes Home

by mrsredboots



Category: The Lost Prince - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsredboots/pseuds/mrsredboots
Summary: The Rat has been in Vienna, having treatment for his limp.  Is there still a place for him at Marco's side when he returns?





	

The train from Vienna was late. “Of course!” sighed Marco, known formally as His Serene Highness the Crown Prince Igor Fedorovitch of Samavia, Minister of State for Reconstruction and Rebuilding. “It is never late, when it doesn’t matter, and the one day it does matter, it is late.”

“Sire, may we offer you some refreshment while you wait?” asked the station-master, anxiously.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” replied Marco, and continued pacing up and down the platform. There was quite a large crowd of people who had also come to meet the train, to cheer The Rat’s homecoming.

One of the first things the newly-created Council of Ministers had decreed was that, in gratitude for all that he had done for them, The Rat – whose formal title was now Baron James Ratcliffe – should be sent to specialists in Vienna to see whether anything could be done about his lameness. He had protested at first, claiming that he was in no pain and could manage on his crutches as well as, if not better than, most people managed without them. However, the Council of Ministers, led by Marco, had insisted, and The Rat had spent the past eighteen months in Vienna having treatment. But now he was pronounced as fit as he was ever going to be, and was at last returning to Samavia and his position as Marco’s soi-disant aide-de-camp.

The train finally pulled in, and The Rat stepped out of the second-class compartment that was his compromise between the third class that would have been his preference, and the first class that the hospital assumed that a Baron would wish to travel by.

At first glance he was unchanged – still thin, his slightly rodent-like face as sharp as ever. But he was glowing with good health, and, best of all, walking with only one stick and a slight limp, rather than dragging himself along on crutches as he had done before.  His back was still hunched, and always would be, but his legs were much straighter and sturdier than they had been.

He looked rather taken aback by the crowd on the platform, and looked up and down until he spotted Marco, who strode forward to greet him.

“Welcome back!” he cried, and the two men exchanged a rough embrace before Marco led the way to the motor.

“Welcome home, Sir,” “Welcome home!” The chorus of welcomes became almost deafening as they left the station, and both were glad when the driver revved the engine for the short drive to the Royal Palace.

“You’ve accomplished a lot!” said the Rat, looking round him at the signs of new building and general refurbishment of the city, which had been all but destroyed during the most recent phase of the cruel civil wars that had lasted the best part of five hundred years.

“Yes. Later, if you like, we can go for a drive and I’ll show you the main things that have been happening. But Father wanted to see you as soon as possible, to greet you and hear your news, so we’re going straight to the Palace now.”

“There’s the Cathedral! Still no roof, though?”

“No, we’ve decided to keep it that way as a memorial. When we can, we’ll build a new Cathedral, but for now, we worship in the ruins, in a marquee in winter and in the open air in summer. It’s actually very moving.”

“And here’s the Palace! You’ve smartened it up a bit!”

“Yes, but it’s mostly cosmetic. It really ought to be completely torn down and rebuilt, but that’s some day. For now, we live with the discomforts, and like them! And here is Father, come out to greet you.”

Marco allowed the Rat to leave the car first, in defiance of all protocol, and watched as the Rat embraced King Ivor Fedorovitch, formerly known as Stefan Loristan.

After they had had a cup of tea, Marco asked whether the Rat would like the drive they had talked about. “We can dine out,” he said. “I like to give my custom to as many local businesses as I can, as much as I can afford to. The more the Royal Family is seen to encourage the economy to recover, the better. Come with us, Father?”

The King smiled. “Not today, I think. Another time, I should love to, but I have my own plans for this evening.”

“That means he’s going to Francesca’s” said Marco to the Rat as they walked out to the car. “Let’s take a driver, then we can get drunk.”

At this, the Rat stopped dead. “I think, Sir, that I had better take the next train back to London. If you will excuse me.” He bowed, stiffly, and began to leave the room.

“Hey, wait a minute, Rat.... Rat, I’m so sorry. I’d totally forgotten how much you hate alcohol and alcoholism. Please reconsider!”

The Rat hesitated. “Well, perhaps. But if you ever, ever get drunk, Marco, tonight or any other night, I really will take the next train back to London. I’m quite serious. I really can’t bear it, and especially not in you.”

Marco stopped, too. “Oh, Rat – I’m really sorry. And the silly thing is, I never do get drunk, so I don’t even know why I said it. I do enjoy a glass of wine with a meal, and perhaps a beer with friends, or a brandy at Ruth’s, but I always stop as soon as I’m aware I have had a drink. Only once did I not, and I disliked the sensation intensely, especially the next day. So I do know when to stop, I promise you.”

“All right then,” said the Rat, still serious. “But you have been warned. Actually, I’m wondering whether I ought not to go back to London anyway. Is there still a role for me here? I am not twelve years old any more, to pretend to be your aide-de-camp!”

“Rat! No, you can’t possibly go back! We need you here – we need as many people as we can get to help in the reconstruction! There’s masses of work for you, aide-de-camp or no aide-de-camp – and I still want you as that, even though we are grown up now. I still need some kind of secretary/assistant person. Actually, we probably will be going back to England in a few weeks – I want to look at the model villages built by people like Joseph Cadbury and Samuel Smiles, to see what we can do for our workers. Too many people are still living in makeshift shelters, I do so hate it, but money is so very tight.”

“If you really think I can still be of use, I’ll gladly stay. And I want to see those model villages, too. There’s also one near Liverpool, isn’t there?”

“Yes, and one in Scotland. I want to talk to the architects and see who I can persuade to come out here and help us. Meanwhile, this tour. Shall I drive, or shall we take a horse and carriage?”

“Couldn’t we walk? I have been sat on the train all day and need exercise.”

“We could, but as we have to have an armed escort if we do, I tend not to very much, as it’s not fair on them. And yes, I have said that if I have you, I don’t need anybody else, but the Council of Ministers won’t have it. There are still disaffected elements, mostly Maronovitch, floating about, and they say I’d be putting myself at unnecessary risk to go out on foot without an armed escort. So, mostly, I don’t.”

“Then let’s take the carriage. You can’t see much from a car, and then, the engine noise....”

So the two young men drove the open carriage for an hour around the city of Melzarr, looking at the reconstructions, with Marco explaining, when he knew, who lived where, and what sort of trades went on.

“There’s still massive poverty, of course,” he said. “Not so much here, now, but in some of the smaller towns it’s pretty terrible. Larrina is all right, as there is always work in a port city, but again, very short of housing. We do what we can in the way of relief, of course, but there’s limits to what we can afford. We are still reliant on massive help from our neighbours, and that’s not a situation that Father or I want to go on indefinitely. The countryside is better, of course, as they can grow most of their own food, and we have had two years of good harvests now, so there isn’t the famine there was when we first came here.

“Now, where shall we dine? I suggest we go straight to Ruth’s – the food there is good, although not great, and then we wouldn’t have to go out again.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Ruth. Who is she? A girlfriend?”

Marco snorted. “Scarcely! Ruth’s one of the two madams in the city – Francesca is the other. Ruth caters more to men our age – my father goes to Francesca’s! Although we could go there another night if you wanted to see what it was like. But I thought I’d treat you to an evening at Ruth’s to celebrate your homecoming.”

“That sounds fantastic,” said the Rat. “But – your father sanctioning brothels?”

“Oh yes. His rationale is that prostitution is the oldest profession, and there will always be prostitutes, especially in a country as poor as ours is, so they might as well be licensed and legal, and checked for disease and so on. In a house they have better working conditions, and have some safeguards against violence. Even the street girls are licensed now, and have to have regular medical check-ups, and there is somewhere they can go if they do get beaten up. The police are required to take such claims seriously.”

“That’s fantastic. I used to know a few street girls in London, and they lived in fear of their lives, most often.”

Some hours later, as they were leaving Ruth’s, the Rat suddenly stiffened. “Look, Marco – over there. Isn’t that –”

Marco looked, but there was nobody. “Who did you think you saw?” he asked.

“I couldn’t swear to it, and it was just a glimpse, but I thought it looked very like that photo of Paul Varel – you remember, the spy who trapped you in the cellar in London.

“Heavens, I hope you’re mistaken,” said Marco. “If he and Karovna are here, they are probably spying on behalf of the Maronovitch again. The last I heard, they were safely locked up in a Bavarian prison, but I suppose they could have been released.”

“What ought we to do?”

“There’s not a lot we can do,” replied Marco. “I’ll mention it to the Chief of Police, and ask him to keep a look out, but you weren’t even sure it was him, and I saw nothing. Meanwhile, did you enjoy your evening?”

“Yes, very much, thank you. Diane is a lovely young lady, I shall look forward to seeing her again.”

“She is nice. I sometimes go with her, but Judit, who I was with tonight, is my favourite of the young women there.”

“I suppose you are going to have to think of quite another sort of young woman soon; they’ll be wanting you to get married and beget an heir.”

“Yes, they do. Not until I’m 21, though. They are already looking round for suitable princesses, and I shall soon have to start going on so-called diplomatic missions to those countries with eligible young women the right sort of age!”

“Will it have to be a foreign princess, or will they let you marry a Samavian girl of good birth?”

“I don’t know. Royalty, I’m told, does tend to marry royalty. But then, I wasn’t brought up royal, so....”

“But you were brought up to do your duty, and I know you’ll continue to do that, whoever you have to marry.”

“You mean, no more evenings at Ruth’s? Well, it won’t happen yet, not for another three or four years, so I shall enjoy Ruth’s while I can. Do you want to try Francesca’s, next time? I warn you, her girls are considerably more expensive than Ruth’s, and most of her patrons are older, but you probably ought to go there at least once, just because.”

“Hey yes, why not! Imagine me, the Rat, patronising a swanky brothel, whoever would have thought it!”

“I never imagined having a settled home. We had to move so often in my childhood, and then you and I did that trip across Europe as Bearers of the Sign. I’ve always been a wanderer. But I find I’m rather liking being settled, and we have such great work to do here, helping with the reconstruction.”

It was another week before the young men could spare the time for an evening out. Marco was exceptionally busy, and the Rat soon found himself engrossed in the work. He was a real help to Marco, who told him so repeatedly. Finally, at the end of the week, they decided to go to Francesca’s, so the Rat would know what it was like.

As they arrived, the King was just going upstairs with one of the women. Marco, catching a glimpse of her, stiffened. “Madame,” he said to the Madam of the establishment, who had come over to greet them, “Who is that going upstairs with my father?”

“Oh, she’s new here; she calls herself Eugenia Varotna. Why, do you fancy her yourself? You’ll have to wait until your father’s done!”

“No, it’s not that. But she is a well-known Maranovitch spy – she’s really Eugenia Karovna. I’ve run up against her a time or two. We need to protect my father, urgently – she will mean mischief for him!”

Something in his voice warned Madam Francesca that he was in deadly earnest. “We can’t have that. You do realise, that if you’re mistaken the consequences will be terrible?”

“Yes, yes, I know, but I’m not mistaken. What can we do? We can’t – well, I can’t – burst in on my father in the middle of things, but someone needs to interrupt them. Oh dear, it may already be too late.”

Madam Francesca was already half-way up the stairs, calling for the guards who protected her women. There followed a great deal of crashing, swearing, and at least one gunshot before Francesca called down the stairs to Marco. “You can come up, Sir. It’s all right, I think.”

He ran up the stairs two at a time, with the Rat close on his heels. “Well spotted, Sir,” said the Captain of the Guard. “You have saved your father’s life tonight. The wretch chloroformed him, and was going to pass him out on the balcony to her associate, who was waiting in the garden. I don’t know what their ultimate plans were, but I doubt they were anything good.”

“Do you have them in custody?”

“He is, but – she had a gun, and I’m afraid she shot herself before we could secure her. She is dead.”

“God be thanked!” cried the Rat. “She has caused us enough trouble over the years. She was not a pleasant woman.”

“But Madame,” said Marco, later when they were downstairs and all, even the Rat, enjoying a glass of brandy. “Now you are short of a woman, and that is all our fault. Would you permit us to make some kind of restoration – I know my father will agree, when he wakes up?”

Francesca laughed. “On the contrary, Sir, it is I who am grateful to you. It was my lapse of judgement that caused me to employ her – but she was very beautiful.”

“She was that. I wonder, though, whether you might look at Judit, who’s working at Madam Ruth’s just now. She was telling me last week that she would love to work for you, and she, too, is very lovely.”

“But I require more than just a pretty face; my women need to be real companions, if only short-term. I want people who can talk politics, or books, or whatever the customer would like to talk about.”

“Judit is very intelligent; she’s often helped me with decisions about the reconstruction. Do at least interview her, Madame; you might find she’s just what you want.”

“I will do that. And meanwhile, tonight, for you, is on the house.... is there anyone in particular who has taken your fancy?”

By the time they were ready to go home, King Ivor had regained consciousness, and expressed his gratitude to Francesca and the guard captain, as well as to Marco and the Rat. “You have to remember, I’d never seen her,” he explained to the boys when they were on their way home. “You were the only one who could recognise her, Marco – and I’m so very thankful you did.”

“I, too, am thankful,” said Marco. “It seems so long since we were in danger at every moment, I had relaxed too much. I nearly panicked, but sent out a strong call for help to the Thought that Thought the World, and Francesca believed me, and acted.”

“I, too, sent out a call,” said the Rat. “Goodness, what years ago it seems, when we couldn’t have got the Sign to the right people without. I’m glad you taught me. I have never forgotten. Sometimes, in hospital in Vienna, when I was in pain and felt alone and forgotten, I would cry out for help, and help always came.”

“It always does, if you ask,” said the King. “But now, if you will forgive me, I need to go to bed with a tisane; the chloroform has left me with a bad headache.  But you two have done yet another great deed for Samavia today.  God be thanked."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that this isn't, perhaps, the story you wanted - I couldn't write that. If it's any consolation, this isn't the story I set out to write, either - the characters wouldn't at all do what I wanted them to! 
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed it, anyway.


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